Tuesday, November 12, 2013

The Eternal Call: Part 7

Hours later, after the kids had run
themselves ragged, they came in and helped set the table for dinner. They worried that their grandmother might put
an end to the stories. She had looked
awfully upset earlier. Yet, after their
meal, there was no hint of resistance when it was time to resume the tale of
terror.

“Well, if you kids want to hear any more tonight, we’d
better get started,” Grandpa announced as he settled into his favorite
recliner. “Tomorrow is a school day so
you’ll need to get to bed early tonight.”

Delighted, they circled
around and settled in. Even the ladies
were in attendance, though Grandma’s forehead creased with worry as Grandpa
picked up right where he’d left off.

“Drums
pounded a rhythmic beat as chanting servant girls danced in the flickering light,
writhing in time and welcoming the wickedness of the flesh. In a silken ceremonial mask and robes, the
lead warlord stepped forward with his book of spells. Hanging from his belt, a curious curved blade
shimmered in the torchlight. The blade’s
metal seemed to take on a life of its own, swirling with blood-red streaks that
would expand and contract as if pushing a life’s blood through the implement
and bringing it strength. The warlord
freed the knife and held it high in the air as he called upon the spirits to
imbibe him with their powers. Until that
moment, the sky was dark and silent but in response to his plea, a fork of
brilliant silvery-blue lightning split the sky as rolls of thunder shook the
ground. Terrified, the helplessly bound
traitor cried out, shrieking, pleading for help but none came. In desperation, the bound man searched the
deep recesses of his mind, attempting to find a counter-curse for the
unspeakable evil that was about to be projected onto his body. The warlord paid no attention to the pitiful
whimpers coming from his sacrifice.
Instead, he proceeded with his own spell, tossing the necessary
accoutrements into the cauldron while speaking the vilest of incantations. Meanwhile, the chanting slave girls grew
louder and more aggressive as the drum’s rhythmic pounding intensified. It was then that the razor-sharp, curved
blade came down hard, biting into the traitor’s flesh. With the skill of a surgeon the warlord
manipulated the blade, twisting and turning to channel enough blood from the
victim to pour into the cauldron but not enough to kill the traitor-at least
not until the right time. Paper-thin slices of flesh were flayed from the screaming
man’s body and cast into the cauldron along with the other horrors. Blood, bat’s wings, foul smelling powders and
thick, viscous liquids were poured on top as the servant girls fanned the
flames under the pot. In a final
rally-cry, the bound man cast out his own curse on the warlords but they were
unable to understand his words over the drumming, chanting and screaming. The traitor’s last words had uttered just as
the dreaded curved blade severed the man’s heart from its valves. With the twist of the wrist, the bloody organ
plopped into the cauldron.”

The children gasped, nervously tittering, their
eyes were alight with anticipation.
Erica tried not to chuckle at the look of horror plastered on her mother’s
face. The old man did his best to avoid her displeased glower as he
continued.

“The
contents boiled hard and fast with copious billows of thick black smoke roiling
out to reach the dark sky. What began as
tendrils of black smoke, coiled into claw-like fingers, reaching out and
grasping hold of the cauldron. The
abomination, a demon from the depths of Hell burst forth from the pot with a
fiery blast, spewing the befouled contents onto the ground. Entranced by the effects of his dark magic,
the warlord cried aloud with glee, weeping with excitement over his
triumph. Yet when the warlord tried to
command the beast to his bidding, the demon reviled. It snatched up the warlord in its scaly claws
and tore through the silken robes into his tender flesh, shoveling innards into
the gaping hole of its maw. Smoldering with the fire of Hell, the abomination’s
scales seared and cauterized all that it touched. The weaker warlords attempted to flee in a
riot of terrified screams, stampeding over anything in their path but the demon
had other plans. A flaming blaze projected
from the terrible creature’s mouth, engulfing many of them a column of
fire. Moments later, all that remained
of those who had been trapped was a brittle mound of charcoal, flaking in the
gentle breeze. With each soul it
consumed, the demon grew larger and more powerful until it was able to scoop up
the remaining slave girls with one grisly hand and soar high into the air with
their searing flesh melting through its claw.”

“Oh
my heavens!” Grandma exclaimed. “What on
earth are you telling our sweet babies, William? This is not an appropriate tale for the
children!”

The four grandchildren vehemently
disagreed. They were enraptured and
wanted more. Sensing that it was pushing
her mother to the brink, Erica suggested calling it a night. As she tucked her children into bed, she
promised she would have a talk with Grandma, and they’d be permitted to
continue Grandpa’s story the next evening.

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About Me

Horror Writer and Author of the "Journal of the Undead" series.
To see an excerpt of "Journal of the Undead: Littleville Uprising" go to the 6/13/13 Preview post under Archives.
Contact me at: leesg1023@yahoo.com
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